


Is You Is or Is You Ain't My Baby

by die_traumerei



Series: The Spider, The Soldier, and Steve [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Cuddling, Date Night, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Multi, OT3, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, bucky barnes is smooth as fuck, bucky can plan the best dates, but this is just the lads, mention of bucky/steve/natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:51:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2724518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky takes Steve out on a date.  That's it.  That's the story.</p>
<p>(Bucky is better at planning dates than anyone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is You Is or Is You Ain't My Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little amuse-bouche I wrote when I was figuring out Braid, but it didn't fit anywhere in that story. There will almost certainly be a companion story wherein Nat drags Steve out on a date at some point :)

_I'm taking you out tonight. Be ready, 7pm, dress sharp. xoxo, Bucky_

Steve checked himself in the mirror again, and straightened his tie. It was 6:53 and he was pretty sure he was  presentable . Thank God he had a closet full of tailored suits, and that the ridiculously slim cut that was fashionable at the moment flattered him. He'd picked a dark blue three-piece with a silvery-grey tie, because when Bucky told him to dress sharp, he meant  _ sharp _ . 

Steve checked the text message again, combed his hair once more, and waited for the doorbell to ring. (Which was stupid, since they  _ lived _ together, but Bucky had apparently got ready at the Tower, so he could come pick Steve up,  because he was as theatrical as they came .)  He had been threatening to take  Steve on a date, just the two of them, for a month now.  W ith Nat away on a mission with Clint, he guessed they had the excuse Bucky in no way actually needed.

When the bell rang, Steve went down to meet Bucky at the apartment building's front door.

Upon opening the door, he wondered if he was going  to go  into heart failure.

Bucky was  _ stunning _ . Hair pulled back in a low ponytail, he wore a three-piece suit in dark brown, with a blue cravat in place of a tie. A black leather glove covered his metal hand, and he held a single red rose. He was clean-shaven, and the dark, earthy colors  of his clothes  made his eyes glow even in the poor light on the front stoop.  Steve suspect ed he was even wearing a bit of mascara, the way his lashes stood out dark and made his eyes a little wider, a little bluer.

Considering the way Bucky froze in slightly stunned silence, Steve was pretty sure he'd managed to dress himself  acceptably , and he was inordinately proud of being the one who  got it together enough first to lean in, kissing Bucky lightly. “Hey, you.”

“I have _got_ to get you dressed up more often,” Bucky muttered, before remembering himself and returning the kiss. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you. Looking pretty good yourself,” Steve added, taking the rose Bucky handed to him with a bemused smile. “Buck, you didn't have to.”

“I know. But I wanted to.” Bucky held out his arm and Steve took it, letting himself be led out to the street where a _very_ nice, very fast-looking car that almost certainly came from Tony's personal fleet, was waiting. “You always say you like dating and all of that, and I've never actually taken you out, not the way you deserve.”

“Bucky...” Steve genuinely didn't know what to say to that. That he loved this thing the three of them had, and didn't need any more? That he was grateful, every day, that he'd made a home with his two dearest friends, and that they loved and cared for him in a way he didn't think anyone ever would? That he couldn't _wait_ to see what Bucky had planned, because the man was a romantic mastermind?

“Stop it, you're not allowed to get all gooey on me until at least after dessert,” Bucky chided, but paused to steal another kiss before he opened Steve's door for him.

“You gonna treat me like a lady all evening?” Steve asked, bemused, as Bucky pulled out of the space and headed for Manhattan.

“Nah. Y'don't have a dress I can slip my hand up,” Bucky said, though the reached over and rested his right hand on Steve's knee as they drove into the city.

Bucky took them to Greenwich Village, leaving the car down a quiet side-street and giving Steve his arm again, leading him through a series of little alleys until they came to a small restaurant. The hostess nodded when  they came in , and led them up several narrow flights of stairs to  the rooftop . Their table was small, off in a private corner, and it was beautiful.

Steve couldn't stop  _ looking _ , the whole  space lit by candles, fairy lights, and a few well-placed spotlights. A low hedge ran around the perimeter of the  terrace , with some kind of fragrant flower planted amidst it so that the air was  just barely  perfumed. Their table had a simple white cloth, and a cluster of tea lights float ed in a bowl in the center.

“This is incredible,” Steve murmured, reaching over to squeeze Bucky's hand. “Pepper?”

“Bruce, actually. I wanted someplace French to take you, and he raved about this.” Bucky grinned, the sweet smile that crinkled the edges of his eyes. “There's no menu, just whatever the chef is moved to prepare that day. But it's mostly stuff from the south of France – remember Carcassonne?”

Steve's smile bloomed across his face. “The only good weather of the entire war, I swear. Remember we said we'd bring our wives back someday, when the fighting was all over?”

Bucky laughed and nodded. “So much for that plan. We'll have to go back soon, though.”

“With Nat,” Steve agreed, and sat back as the waiter appeared to take their drinks orders and let them know the dish of the day. Bucky requested a specific bottle of wine, and they were left to themselves. There were a handful of other couples on the roof terrace, but the tables were arranged such that they couldn't hear them, and the sense of privacy in the warm evening wrapped all around the two men.

They talked of everything that wasn't important; how  Gotham  Girls was doing, Sam's newest niece (they were going to visit as soon as Nat was back), other places they wanted to visit now that  a war wasn't being fought there. 

After the wine had been poured, Bucky raised his glass. “To love.”

Steve touched his glass to Bucky's and drank deep. He might not get the effect of the alcohol – and Bucky barely would himself – but he could enjoy the explosion of sunshine on his tongue, and the sudden rush of feeling for the man across from him.

“To love,” he agreed, and raised his glass again. “To Nat.”

Bucky grinned, and they touched glasses again, drank again, their hands finding each other across the table. Steve rubbed his thumb over the soft, dark leather, and wondered how his heart could hold so much. “To you,” he said quietly. “For loving me.”

“To you,” Bucky replied, just as softly. “For letting me love you.”

Steve blushed and dropped his eyes, and was _intensely_ grateful that the food arrived just then, and they could lose themselves in the series of dishes, simple and sublime. He meant to linger over dessert, but Bucky nudged him along, so gently he didn't realize it until they were out the door. “Nightcap at home?” he asked, well aware that it was still early.

“What kind of a date do you think I am?” Bucky asked, snorting a little. “The night's not half over.” He slipped his hand into Steve's and walked them through the city, dodging the whole crazy mass of life that was New York City on a beautiful evening. Steve was vaguely aware of where they were heading but was happy to let Bucky take the lead, drinking in the sights around them, wondering what treat was in store.

They went down another alleyway, though this one was well-lit with hanging lanterns and small shops that opened out onto the cobbled lane. Most of them were closed, and all of them were art galleries.

Bucky led them almost exactly halfway down the magical little street, and knocked on a particular door.

“James!”

“Eileen.” He kissed her on either cheek and smiled the old rakish grin that could gather every girl within two hundred yards of him in the old days. “I'm so sorry we're late. It's all Steve's fault.”

“Don't be silly, you were making eyes at one another over dinner. And you were perfectly right to linger if this was your view,” she chided, holding out her hand to Steve, who gave into the sudden urge to kiss it. “Oooh, I like him.”

“Pleased to meet you, miss,” Steve said politely. “Steve Rogers. Uh. I guess you knew that though.”

“Eileen Nelson,” she said, and Steve did a double-take, making her laugh.

“Seriously? It's an honor...” Steve trailed off as she stood aside, ushering them into the little gallery room. He'd spent a week babbling to anyone who would listen (and everyone who wouldn't) how he'd found this up-and-coming artist named Eileen Nelson and how she was doing work in oils like nothing he'd ever seen and how he'd _just_ missed an exhibition of her work, and he'd been pretty sure absolutely no one had remembered any of this.

“The pleasure's mine, Steve. You and Bucky are invited to the show's grand opening in a week, but he got in touch and we planned a bit of a private showing for you,” she explained. “I have to say, I'm touched you even know about me...”

“I'm hardly an expert on the modern art world, but I follow _some_ of it,” Steve explained, trying to figure out how to simultaneously speak to this woman whose talent left him in awe, kiss his boyfriend, and take in the art around him. “I just... _thank you_. So much. I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed your work.”

She smiled prettily and reached out to take his hand bold as anything, and squeezed it lightly. “Then welcome. I'll go get us drinks, then give you a little tour. Look around at anything you like.”

She turned and walked over to a small, low table where a bottle of champagne was chilling and Steve turned to Bucky, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Jesus Christ, Bucky. How did you _know_?”

“I do listen to you occasionally,” he murmured, hugging Steve back. “Nat remembered her name, and I got in touch, and here we are. Told you this would be a proper date.”

“This isn't a date, this is heaven.” Steve felt like his smile would split his face as he took Bucky's hand, leading him over to the nearest painting. It was huge, at least two yards by two, raw colors suggesting a field after a battle.

Eileen joined them, handing them full glasses, and the next two hours passed in a daze of art, of asking about various works, of little side-discussions that had them all but finishing each others' sentences. Bucky occasionally contributed a question (several of which made Steve _certain_ that he'd done his research before the evening), but mostly it was Steve spending as much time as he wanted lost in his passion.

It was late when they bid Eileen goodbye. She promised she would get home safely and didn't need them to walk her around the corner to her apartment, and they promised they would come to the official opening if they weren't otherwise called away. She kissed them both on the cheek, and they left, walking back to the car arm-in-arm.

Steve was quiet, starry-eyed from the perfect evening. Bucky put on some Etta James for the ride home, and Steve tilted his head back and closed his eyes so he could hear the soft music better, smell Bucky's cologne, feel the world rushing past them as they hit the bridge, then a little bit further to home.

Bucky let them in and Steve carefully set his rose down before he pulled the other man into an embrace. “Thank you doesn't even cover it. Tonight was perfect. _You're_ perfect.”

“Did I somehow get you drunk?” Bucky's laugh was low, more felt than heard, and he hugged Steve back. “I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, love. You deserve it. I'll have to take you out more often, and Nat's demanded a night with you to herself as well, so don't think you'll get away any time soon.”

Steve laughed, and tilted his head back, kissing Bucky sweetly. “Damn, I'll have to come up with another plan to be free of you. Love you, baby.”

“Love you too. C'mon, let's get into something comfortable and watch cartoons 'til we fall asleep.”

Steve claimed one more hug before they undressed and cuddled under the covers together, his head on Bucky's chest.  He felt drunk on happiness and awe that Bucky had done all of this for _him_ , just for him, and for the promise of nothing more than falling asleep wrapped around each other. They curled together, Bucky occasionally dropping kisses into his hair, until Steve finally drifted off.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me at dietraumerei.tumblr.com for lots of flailing, photos of Sebastian Stan, and the occasional sarcastic commentary on my life.
> 
> Incidentally, it's been like a million years since I was last in Greenwich Village, so if it in no way resembles reality -- well, we're suspending disbelief enough to accept costumed superheros?
> 
> (Also, the street that Eileen's gallery is on is pretty closely based on Camac St in Philadelphia, for what it's worth.)


End file.
